


Shitty Quests Make for Good Pay

by madrastic



Series: Welcome to Belleton [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (well they're vines but close enough ig), Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Brainwashing, Deepthroating, Eggpreg, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Lube, Mind Break, Mind Manipulation, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Outdoor Sex, Oviposition, Painful Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Slow Build, Spitroasting, Teasing, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, Vines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrastic/pseuds/madrastic
Summary: Would-be adventurer Bren is going to make a name for himself, even if it kills him. When stopping in an odd town in the middle of nowhere, though, it seems like a certain quest just might.
Relationships: orignal non-human characters/original male characters
Series: Welcome to Belleton [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025433
Comments: 8
Kudos: 229





	Shitty Quests Make for Good Pay

**Author's Note:**

> a bit different from my usual fare, but i was requested to write this as a warmup and didn't really have a reason not to soooo... vinefucking

Bren was an adventurer—or, at least, he was trying to be. With the market for adventuring so oversaturated by stray nobles and knights, there was little room for a former farm boy to prove himself. Starting out cost more than it should have, required more training, took up more time. Nowadays, you couldn’t just pick up a blade and declare yourself the savior of your town. All the gold he had sunk into getting him the proper equipment would be enough to pull his family out of debt, though. It had to be.

He had never been keen on the whole white knight aesthetic, a hero riding in on horseback to save the surrounding areas from destruction. Often times, their fees were enough to destroy the town afterwards, anyway. More than a few villages had died at the end of a knight’s invoice, their coffers drained and assets liquidized. His father knew more about these types of things than him, if Bren was being honest. Economics was far from his strong suit.

With so few adventurers passing through the Deep Woods, though, there was just enough demand to justify his presence. He could swing a sword and look intimidating—to monsters, at least. That, and most quests didn’t require much skill. Clearing out goblin warrens and chasing wild animals off of farmland grew rote fast, the same old, same old.

This town, however, had an odd air about it.

His initial impression of Belleton was that of another sleepy, forgotten town in the middle of the Deep Woods, barely large enough to have a quest board of its own. The roads were unpaved—though, what else could he expect from a place days away from the nearest named street—and a good few of the buildings seemed to be in disrepair, the town hall succumbing to woodworms and termites. Not many would stop here, but Bren was hungry and tired and didn’t care if the inn had bedbugs, so long as he wasn’t sleeping on the ground again. Spring rains meant his bedroll was still airing out, four days after the last storm.

Popping into the only inn, a building named ‘The Drowsy Calf’ that doubled as a tavern, he did his best to look like a proper adventurer. Though his clothing was grimy, he had spent the morning polishing his breastplate to a high shine. With the amount it had cost him, it would be a crime to let it rust or stew in filth. He puffed his chest out, exuding a sense of nobility and confidence. People were less likely to overcharge him if he didn’t look like a scruffy teenager, hardly of age for anything, wandering the woods.

The interior was small, but nice. A fire burned in the fireplace, giving the whole place a cozy atmosphere. In the corner, a bulletin board took up most of the wall with a few sparse sheets of paper pinned to it. Quests, no doubt. The bar was empty of patrons, the tables sitting, waiting for someone to occupy them. A bartender sat in the register area, reading what looked to be a newspaper with a bored look in her eye.

Bren couldn’t place her age, anywhere between eighteen and thirty. She was a human woman with mousy brown hair and eyes to match, nothing out of the ordinary. A forgettable face in a forgettable town. It made more sense how this dingy place was running, though. It wasn’t unheard of for adventurers to take a staff member to bed, if they were suave or desperate enough. Her very presence—along with the inn’s remote location—would ensure knights and nobles stayed long enough to at least rent a room.

“Yes?” She asked after a moment, patience evidently run thin as she watched him wait mutely. “Are you just going to stand there all day, posturing, or are you going to stop blocking the door and ask for what you want?”

Well, that certainly took the wind out of his sails. He couldn’t help the embarrassed flush her words brought to his cheeks as he strode inside, already resting his hand on his coinpurse.

“How much for a night?” It took a great deal of will not to cringe at how reedy his voice sounded.

She leaned back, gesturing to the bulletin board with papers tacked to it. “Twenty silver, half if you pick up a quest. Quarter if you pick up three.”

“ _Twenty?”_ He couldn’t have heard her right.

Spending nearly a third of his months’ wages on one room simply had to be a scam. This was a nowhere inn in the middle of the woods, where did they get off, thinking they could fleece him like that? It was insane! Madness!

“Not a lot of customers, and we have to keep the damn thing running.” She said, seeing the shock on his face. “Sorry if it’s steep, but you’re welcome to sleep in the woods. Won’t find another place for miles.”

No, Bren would not be doing that. That was a death sentence, and he liked life rather much. Fishing out the coin, he paid her, squashing down the annoyance her sing-song “thank you” dredged up. Ugh. It was completely unnecessary. Just give him her thanks and be done with it, there was no need to rub it in his face. A bronze key exchanged hands, and Bren was set to set his things down and rest. Dinner would be brought up in an hour, anyway.

Plucking a quest off the board at random, he waved it through the air, proof of his intention. Her halfhearted nod was entirely unsatisfactory. He trudged up the steps and entered his—small, mind you—room, reading the quest as he went.

For something he picked without looking, it seemed rather simple. The pay was wonderful, two entire gold coins for something as basic as a standard monster hunt. Adventurers must have been sparse, if this was what passed for fair pay. That would cover the costs of the room and then some, especially if he got half off. No harm in staying a few more days, if all the jobs were like this.

Written in a neat script on slightly worn paper, the quest detailed how the commissioner was having trouble with a beast deep in the woods. The thing lived deep in the woods, by a river, and it was picking off a farmer’s sheep one by one, dragging them back through the undergrowth. They had added a map, citing that they would not be accepting solicitors, except to inform them that the quest had been completed. No attributes had been listed, but it likely wasn’t as big an issue as the farmer made it out to be. Bren was a far cry from a sheep, after all.

Undressing, he drew a bath in the bathroom afforded to patrons. No one else was staying here, he could only assume from the stark silence, and so, he made himself at home. It was bliss, washing the dirt and grime of yet another mission off, the water looking more like a mud puddle than a hot bath when he was done. His muscles ached from the strain of carrying his armor all this way, but that was nothing a little love couldn’t fix. Maybe the bartender knew where someone could go for a little… attention. He’d ask her when he cashed in his reward. Better get that done first, so she wouldn’t complain about him stiffing the bill later.

He dried off and went back to his room, setting his things down on the floor and doing his best to remain positive as a tray was left outside, bread and a simple stew. For its price, it was a shit room, only just large enough for a bed, a desk, a dresser, and a window. It was a five silver room at best, but here he was, being cheated out of his hard-earned money. Fine. Soon enough, it _would_ be a five silver room. Eating quickly, he wiped his mouth. The stew was just as good as the room.

As he collapsed into bed, Bren couldn’t help but wince at the lump mattress and rough sheets. Beggars couldn’t be choosers in the adventuring life, and he wasn’t a baby. He could sleep in a slightly uncomfortable bed. It was far better than the alternative, after all. Only whining a little, he fell into a tumultuous sleep.

Sunlight slashing across his eyes woke him, echoed by roosters cawing. Great. Wonderful. He felt _worse_ than he did when he’d laid down, but that was fine. Tugging his clothes on, he ran his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to get it into order. His attempts failed, but it would have to do. No use getting neat if he was about to go out. His sword at his side was bulky and uncomfortable, just as unwieldy as the first day he bought it. His armor, too, was far from comfortable, the metal breastplate made it hard to bend over and limited his range of motion just enough that he never adjusted to it. At least it protected him from attacks.

When he came downstairs, the bartender was still there, paging through a book in a language he didn’t speak. Her brown eyes flicked to him, giving him a quick onceover. Still devoid of patrons, the bar unnerved him slightly. It had to be the silence. Not a sound drifted from the kitchen, no cooks arguing, no maids cleaning.

“You took Louis’ quest?” Her voice was no sweeter than it had been last night.

With a noncommittal grunt, he sat down at one of the empty tables. “Yeah. Do you serve breakfast here, or do I have to go out?”

She groaned like he had asked her to build a barn. “We do. Wait there. This goes on the final bill, you know.”

Rolling his eyes, he nodded, staying at the table as she disappeared behind the double doors of the kitchen. The wait was… not promising. It seemed like she had asked the cook to make everything from scratch, given how long he spent, twiddling his thumbs and listening to his own rumbling stomach. True to her word, though, she reemerged with a plate of eggs, toast, and sausages, setting it down in front of him.

“Eat up, you’re going to need it. Louis hasn’t gotten a successful taker yet.” A knowing grin flashed across her face. “Hell, if you come back, I’ll give you all the meals you want for free.”

Louis’ takers had almost certainly been other farmers, not proper adventurers. Who would mess with him, what with his equipment and tentative experience? More than most locals, that was for sure.

He made a noise of acknowledgement, wolfing down his food and wiping his mouth before rising. “Then it looks like you’ll be out some money by day’s end.”

Raising an eyebrow, she left him, settling back into her chair and propping her feet up on the bar as she opened her book to where she’d left off. “Sure; have fun, kid.”

With a frustrated huff directed her way, Bren made his way out, following the map through town. It marked out a trail through the woods which, after a few moments of searching, Bren found. It was narrow, dirt loosely packed from sparse foot traffic. The map had labelled it as a trail to the creek, one the farmer would use to get water for his herd during droughts. Now though, it was lush and overgrown, plant life spilling into his path.

Roots and snarls in the earth threatened to trip him as he went deeper and deeper into the woods, guided by the faint sound of a brook ahead of him. Gradually, the trail gave way to grass, fading to near invisibility. The river was close, though, and with it, the monster. Drawing his sword, Bren slowed his pace, watching for tracks in the undergrowth.

When it opened up into a meadow, choked with vines and brambles, he frowned, hunching a bit to blend in with his surroundings more. A tree at his back, he scanned the tall grass. From the farmer’s description, it didn’t seem like a beast that was active in the day, but one could never be too careful. It would be best to dispatch it while it slept, but Bren had never been quite that lucky.

In all his surveying and planning, he failed to notice a vine shifting to loop around his boot, a secondary one rising behind him. He yelped when they twisted around his midsection and ankles, holding his lower body still as he attempted to kick free.

Struggling in the vines’ grip, nothing Bren did loosened them. If anything, they wound tighter around his midsection, roughly hoisting him up into the branches of the tree. His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering to the forest floor. Just like that, a month’s worth of gold had been swallowed up by the tangle of moss and undergrowth, hopelessly out of reach.

A whimper slipped past his lips. The greenery looped around his wrists, dragging them behind his back without gentleness. His hands clawed at the organic shackles to no avail, muscles straining against impossibly strong restraints. He kicked out, spitting curses at deaf plant life. His efforts swung him, dislodging the vine at his waist. Hanging from his wrists, he felt his shoulders burn at the strain, threatening to give under his weight. With a gasp, Bren redoubled his efforts, wriggling, ignoring the way his joints screamed out for him to stop before he did any permanent damage.

As if frustrated, the vines tightened to the point of pain, one dashing out from the canopy to suspend his torso and two more fastening his ankles, pulling his legs apart suddenly. The ground seemed far less welcoming now as the monster dragged him up higher, dangling him over the undergrowth and brambles, an unspoken threat.

It shifted its grip, positioning him better for its devices. One vine tugged at his breastplate, letting it fall to the forest floor below him, while another tore his pants and underclothes from his waist, not bothering to preserve the fabric. Their strength was… terrifying. It filled him with horror. This creature could snap his bones like carrots, pulverize him with a single thought. Little sobs escaped him, Bren’s struggles halting somewhat as one looped around his neck, a collar and leash.

He was horrendously exposed, what with the late morning sun warm on his bare ass. Flinching at a cool breeze, he wished more than anything that no one would see him like this. Any help he received would be overshadowed at the sheer embarrassment this situation would cause, someone saving him while his legs were spread by a vine monster, half naked and beholden to its will.

Uncaring about his inner turmoil, a vine slick with some kind of secretions played at his entrance, teasing the tight ring without mercy. Biting back embarrassing noises, Bren squirmed away as best he could, though the plants held him fast for his troubles. Every muscle tensed, his body on high alert, as if, by some method of hysterical strength, he could fight off his assailant. It was a foolish hope, but he was allowed to be foolish.

People did that, right? Got strong suddenly when in danger? Bren remembered something about that, women lifting carriages to get their babies and men slaying dragons under pain of fire, and—

A cry ripped out of his mouth as the vine plunged in without any preparation. Pain erupted between his legs and he flinched, straining harder against his captor. This was going to break him, he knew it. It was going to keep going up into his intestines and spring forth from his mouth, skewer him, bleeding, like meat on a stick. His screams echoed through the woods, pleading for someone, _anyone_ , before cool flora grabbed his neck, plunging into his mouth to silence him.

Muffled shrieks and sobs still escaped him, tears blurring his vision. He didn’t want to die like this, half naked and impaled on a vine. They’d laugh when they found his body. He would be a story for ages, immortalized as the idiot who got too close to a vine monster.

Slowly, as if it was trying to get a feel for how much his body could take, the vine pulled out, pouring the secretions as it left. Before Bren could humor hope, it thrust back in, his body making a squelching sound as the lubricant greased its path.

He couldn’t help the moan that slipped from his lips as his ass stretched, the skin where the vine’s slick had touched tingling almost pleasantly. A blush stained his cheeks as he realized just what he’d done. Letting loose little gasps and whimpers, he felt his body accept the intrusion, relaxing without his say so to let it in further. It made his stomach churn in a way not wholly unpleasant.

The vines moved him with an odd gentleness to present his ass to the sky, the tendril in his mouth pumping a sweet, sticky fluid down his throat before he could think to resist. Jerking his head to the side, Bren felt his innards twist at this new sensation, the smooth muscles of his throat unclenching against his will. His lips stretched wider as more of the tendril found its home in his mouth, his whimpers turning into something far needier as it tilted his head up, another tearing his shirt to get to his chest.

As the clothing fell from his torso to the forest floor so far below him, Bren couldn’t help but shiver. The cool air pricked at his skin, playing across the thin veneer of sweat. His breathing was coming fast, faster now that he was naked. If a monster could come by now and rip his insides out, that would be great. Wonderful, even.

His nipples, stiffened by the afternoon breeze, were like targets for the vines. One swirled around his left, another teasing his right. With the lubricant they dripped, it felt… it felt heavenly. Bren let out a shuddering groan, his traitorous cock taking interest in the proceedings as the tendril tips teased him.

The one in his ass had sped up its pace, pulling out and burying itself farther into him with every stroke. It drew groans from him, his body clenching around it as if to milk it of more lubricant. Obligingly, it flooded his insides, the lube turning from runny to something thicker, more viscous. It reminded Bren of his older friend, talking about what the nobles used when they took their page boys, shoving a thick, clear goop up their holes to ease the way for their cocks.

If this was even a tenth of what that felt like, Bren would gladly strip down and give himself to the first noble that crossed his path. The tendrils and lubricant were searing him from the inside out, a slow, steady, pleasant kind of burn. The closest thing he could liken it to was coming in from the cold in the winter and taking a hot bath, but the feeling radiated from within him, urging him to relax more and take it, to open himself up wider.

His thoughts came sluggishly, mind not connecting ideas like it should have, but that was fine. Better than fine. Why ruin this with overthinking? It wasn’t as if he were going anywhere soon, not with how tightly the vines held him. The cold hardly bothered him, only accentuated the touch of the vine on his skin. They trailed over his stomach, his chest, his back, leaving over sensitized skin in their wake. Whining, Bren felt the tendril in his mouth push in ever deeper, stretching his jaw to its limit. His ankles were spread wider, that firm hold winding up his calves and thighs to afford it better control over his body.

Panting, he twitched at their ministrations, breath coming in staccato bursts. It was too much and not enough, all at once. Need washed over him, overpowering any coherent thought in his mind. His whimpers turned desperate, limbs jerking in the monster’s grip. His cock, engorged and unattended, had taken to leaking onto the forest floor, painting the moss with his precum.

As the vine passed over that spot inside him that made him see stars, he cried out again, not in pain, but in pleasure, drooling a heady mixture of his saliva and the sticky, honeyed slick freely down his chin. The vines understood, giving him more, fucking him harder. Every coherent thought in Bren’s head vanished like fog in the sun as it pounded into him, stretching him out. In its grip, he was a doll, positioned and played with as it desired.

It toyed with his nipples, one vine wandering down to run its slick tip through the precum dripping down his cock, its touch coy and light. Bren couldn’t bite back a particularly loud moan at that, his hands scrabbling at their restraints for a modicum of support. His entire body felt like a bowstring pulled taught, ready to snap at any moment.

More. He needed more.

He bucked back onto the vine in his ass, whining and whimpering for it to work its magic more. It was all too happy to oblige, brushing his prostate with every stroke, as if to thank him for how welcoming his body was. That was fine by Bren, though he didn’t have it in him to construct a complaint otherwise. His eyes had long-since unfocused, staring into the green brush without processing anything. Not that he needed to process much at all. Harsh pants and needy noises, muffled by the tendril down his throat, coupled with the slapping of the vine in his ass, were the only sounds he could hear.

Like a vision from an old god, his body tightened up, muscles flexing in their confines as wave upon wave of pleasure washed through him, his cock painting the undergrowth beneath him with his spend as the vine in his ass thrust deep, impossibly deep and the tendril in his mouth released enough slick that it spilled from the corners of his mouth as much as it flowed down his throat.

This was… this was bliss. Bren was floating, thoughts wandering as the vines adjusted his limp form, no doubt reveling in the moans of ecstasy he let out at every slight motion. He could feel leftover lubricant running out of his ass and down the insides of his thighs, leaving a trail of wanting skin wherever it touched. It was too much energy to muster up the will to run, to muster up even the _want_ to run, even with the monster’s grip on him so lax.

Why would he? Nothing but pleasure filled his body, inside and out. How could he think of leaving this, how could he think of wandering off?

Dimly, he became aware of a pressure at his rim, growing insistent. The vines kept him from turning around, but he could feel it slip into him, his body giving way, at the same time the tendrils flooded him with absolute euphoria. His spent cock twitched hard, jerking itself back into hardness as that pressure travelled through Bren, landing in his stomach.

A string of drool dropped from his chin as he looked down, moving as if in a dream. Who knew, maybe he was. His stomach seemed rounder than this morning and, before he could continue on with that train of thought, another pressure was at his ass, body letting it enter easier, the reward of pleasure stronger than the last. Bren’s toes curled in their boots—one boot now, the other had fallen off at some point—his body tensing in anticipation of another orgasm.

Coming back to himself, he only had a moment before another slid in, and another, washing him in that bliss, bringing his orgasm crashing around him. Bren screamed, declaring to all who could hear just how wonderful this was, just how perfectly filled he felt as his stomach protruded out more with each parcel delivered into him.

Soon, though, they came faster than he could recover, frying his thoughts without pause, bringing him to orgasm after orgasm. By sunset, all that was left of Bren was a body, moaning with utmost glee as it was fucked into, whining for more, more, more as its pregnant belly hung below it, heavy with the seeds of a new generation. Mindless and wrecked, it was all he could do to let his eyes roll back and ride out another orgasm, limp, pliant, and perfectly relaxed. Bliss. Oh, he was in bliss.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos greatly appreciated~
> 
> Edit: friend wanted to do a series with me and i just can't say no to them lol, so there's gonna be a few more pieces set in this verse. feel free to add suggestions in the comments, im all ears


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